No Dawn No Day
by Keono
Summary: "Eternity does not die. You should know that." "It does not matter when you are of another land, un." "Yes, usually when that happens, your ideals, your identity is given to another. You are made anew, but you are not you." Greek/Roman God counterpart AU. Basically Deidara is pissed at Sasori. One shot.


**So uhhh, I was never able to finish this story... and then I did. Here ya go.**

The sacrifice for him that day was bloodless, but still, wine and bread were just as valuable as the fish he would receive on the twenty-third of August. The phrase, "Whether you be God of Goddess," was muttered by the priest as they oversaw the ritual.

He often went between the two.

They called him Vulcan, but he preferred the name Deidara, an alias he called himself when he was just an idea from a new civilization.

Deidara received the prayers from all of the smiths in Rome, all of the craftsmen in the growing empire. The prayers ranged from keeping kilns blazing, to the feared reverence of his power. After the Great Fire of Rome in AD 64, Deidara received many new temples, and he doubted that these prayers would stop.

"Do you feel the rebellion?"

"Rebellion, un?" Deidara was studying the clay on his work table, molding it into a large wine bowl with a spin before squashing it. He could make better.

"The old ones are resurfacing, or are at least noticed by the mortals again."

Minerva was always aware of these things. Nothing got past her, or– Deidara snuck a glance and saw that Minerva was in a male form that day, dark hair still long, but tied back at the nape of his neck

"How is that a rebellion, un?" Deidara moved over to another workbench, this one littered in metal parts. "They'll be forgotten again once the mortals remember _us_. You're overthinking again, Itachi, not very _wise_."

The younger _god_ stayed stoic. "A specific god is gaining attention. I think you should look into it."

Deidara ignored him, too busy creating a necklace out of imperial gold. His long hair flamed upwards as he applied heat, the slow flailing strands resembling a volcano spewing blond fire.

He only noticed the change Itachi was talking about the next mortal day. A stray mortal praying for the inspiration to craft, only it wasn't towards _Deidara_. The prayers for art and fire should all be addressed to him, but this was one to another.

Deidara was not jealous, but he wanted to right this wrong, find the mortal and set them straight. He donned his young human form, one far less bright than his eternal body. In the outskirts of Rome, he trailed the mortal prayer, but he still wore a silk toga. He was unsure of what style the Romans were pulling off nowadays. Was it clean shaven and short hair? Or long hair and full beards. Deidara settled with long hair and clean face.

He found the smith working away in his shop and Deidara entered with little fanfare. The man eyed him curiously. "Can I help you?"

"I was hoping to see what you were making. Rumors tell me that you are a fine craftsman, un," Deidara praised, smiling graciously.

The man eyed Deidara's garb and his eyes widened in realization, seeing that this young man was wealthy. "Of course, of course, please make yourself comfortable as I show you my wares."

Deidara sat down in a nearby wooden chair as the smith set out a number of objects on the table nearby. Deidara picked up a manica, admiring how finely the leather was tanned, full grained that will last. Next, his hand ran over the overlapping iron, firm and held in place, sturdy for many hits to come.

"Beautiful, un," he muttered to himself.

"Practicing swordsmanship, sir?"

"I've been considering it, un." With the ease of an expert, Deidara strapped the manica on his bronzed skin, and flexed his forearm. "You must have prayed to Vulcan every day to achieve this quality of work."

The man looked eager as he said, "I have actually been praying to another god, one that a scholar mentioned to me."

Deidara set his cerulean eyes towards the craftsman, his gaze so hot it was cool. The mortal noticed and before he could take back the words, Deidara asked, "And who is this god that aided you in this crafting, un?" He could feel himself burning, his scalp itching to set his golden hair aflame.

"He–he is an old god, one from the ancient lands." The man was visibly sweating now, but Deidara thought his god-form underneath was just simmering.

"Who is this _old_ god that you prefer over the one in your homeland, un?" He stood up now, ripping the manica from his arm. "Do you not remember the Great Fire?"

At this the man blanched despite the heat. He fell to the ground, curled up with his forehead on the ground. "He–He–Hephaestus, sir."

Deidara's lip curled up in distaste at hearing that name. "You are of Rome. Take pride in being a Roman, and pray to your _Roman_ Gods. Not those of the past and far away lands."

"Y–yes, of course." Even though the mortal's stuttering had lessened, there was still a noticeable tremor in his voice. Deidara thought he may even cry.

"Pray to Vulcan for forgiveness for this treasonous act, un."

A whimper came from the man, and Deidara realized his voice was that of a furnace roaring, but the words were understood and the man nodded shakily.

Deidara left before his mortal form slipped away and he materialized in his workshop, all of his furnaces burning in his rage.

Hephaestus, a God he thought long dead, or at least should be. Deidara cared little for what outsiders prayed to, but in this empire, smiths and creators were supposed to pray to him, the _modern_ him. In his fury, Deidara threw the gold necklace he made into a nearby furnace, just as Minerva appeared.

Still male, he raised a brow at the act. "You are getting overworked by one mere mortal. What if he had prayed to me instead for his crafts? Would I be suitable for this mortal?"

Deidara took a deep breath, smoothing his flaming hair down at the back of his neck. He scowled at the god before him, the one he always seemed to feud with. He did not have the memories of his Greek counterpart, as he was a different deity, but he still understood the inklings of resentment that Athena and Hephaestus had for one another. Deidara liked to think that his irritability at Itachi's pride was his own, and no one else's.

"I would not be like this if the prayer had gone to you instead, un." A furnace cooled down. "If it had gone to you, I could understand that they were participating in a different craft, but this was _my_ craft to a _different_ god. A _lesser_ one, un. Not to mention that this mortal is Roman."

"Well, someone has brought Hephaestus alive in this city. If you wish to receive what is truly yours, find this mortal, or find Hephaestus himself." Itachi fingered at a piece of metal on one of Deidara's workbenches.

Deidara quickly took up the suggestion.

–

While in her human form, Deidara wandered Rome, listening for prayers that were hers but directed elsewhere. She found none, but was glad to hear the prayer of the previous smith, no matter how terrified it sounded. Good, that meant that the prayer was sincere.

Instead, she tried focusing on the scholar that was bringing Hephaestus back. Deidara visited many forums, trying to find this mortal, and even though she was in multiple places at once, she was unable to find a trace of the Greek God.

She rested on the bench in one park when a young man sat next to her. He appeared board, perhaps even drowsy in the heat, his bedroom eyes resembling tanned leather in color. Full grain, no doubt.

"I've no one to play latrones with me."

Deidara waited and finally the man looked at her, eyes empty.

"Would you care to join me for a round?"

"I suppose, un," Deidara replied, knowing that this version of herself was currently doing nothing anyways.

They both moved to a nearby table that already held the board game and began setting up pieces. "Not doing much today?"

Deidara looked up from the pieces to see the man was still looking down at the board. "I suppose so, un."

"What's your name?"

She knew it wouldn't hurt to give her alias. "Deidara."

The man looked up and asked for her surname.

Deidara supplied one that was well known, but with a large span of lineages, making it hard to trace who she was exactly.

"And you, un?"

They had just started the game when the man said, "Sasori."

Sasori didn't give a surname and Deidara didn't want to know either way, just needing a name to call him. She looked at Sasori's clothes, a light tunic and red sandals which threw Deidara off. Those were the shoes of a nobleman, but the rest of the outfit did not fit.

Halfway through the game Sasori spoke up. "I have not seen you around here before. Are you visiting?"

"Yes, from Britain."

"Born there?"

"No, un." Deidara eyed the man, noticing how intensely he was staring. "What of you? Where are you from?"

"Greece," Sasori replied, face deadpan.

Deidara raised a brow at that, but she couldn't act too surprised. She had just said that she was from Britain, a land of even further away. Deidara moved her white piece on the board. "You speak Latin fairly well, un. I had not even noticed an accent."

"And you as well."

"It's just British Latin over there, not too different, un," Deidara answered. Deciding to continue the questions, Deidara asked, "What are you doing here in Rome, un?"

"Someone brought me here," Sasori answered, still looking bored, but Deidara thought she saw a shimmer of something by Sasori's head, before a spark caught in his eyes. "But I can already tell that my arrival is being met with hostility."

Deidara wondered if someone had it out for this young man. "What did you do, un?"

"I listened and answered," Sasori replied and the shimmer fell away to show that the man had fiery red hair, the messy locks moving as individual flames. His eyes were ignited coals. Sasori gave an easy smile, but it didn't reached his burning eyes. "I've heard that you've been looking for me."

Deidara stilled and her eyes went wide. She had to prevent himself from coming altogether, or else her form would burn away the park, but the fury was a struggle to keep ahold of. She gripped the edges of the table to prevent herself from having an outburst.

Sasori looked amused, the smile gaining sincerity.

"What are _you_ doing here in _Rome_ , un?" Deidara repeated, the question redefined.

The god went recumbent in his chair, arms and legs crossed. "I responded to a call."

"You have _no_ power here, un," Deidara spat. "You are old, long dead."

"And yet here I am," Sasori retorted, arms lazily stretched out beside him. "Eternity does not die. You should know that."

"It does not matter when you are of another land, un."

The amusement fell away from Sasori, his gaze calculating. "Yes, usually when that happens, your ideals, your _identity_ is given to another. You are made anew, but you are not you."

"I am refined, un," Deidara replied, hands now resting in her lap once the table began smoking. "You are the outdated draft of what I am." It was not question; Deidara was _pure_ whereas she knew Sasori was crude, full of old standards and beliefs.

"You can think that, but then you must ask yourself why there are others still praying to me."

"Those prayers do not belong–"

"The prayers for fire and the smith? Those were mine _long_ before you were thought and worshipped into existence." Sasori looked around the park and sneered. "But I will admit that this empire is beautiful. It would be more so if your mortals did not reduce Hestia to just a virgin goddess." Sasori paused and smiled ironically. "Athena is another example of this. Your people stole Her Parthenos and made her a mere maiden, or whatever she goes by nowadays." Sasori finally looked back at Deidara. "I'm sure these buildings would have been even grander if the Romans did not do that. But they just _had_ to reuse the Greek gods and make them more militant."

"I do not understand why you are telling me all of this, especially since–"

"I must be going," Sasori said, standing abruptly, his hair calming down to a darker red, eyes back to leather. "We should finish this game later."

Before Deidara could do much else, Sasori was gone, and Deidara could sense no trace of the other god. Back at her workshop, she couldn't do much but think, her hands still for once, not tinkering.

She did not like Sasori's last words to her.

–

Deidara was still not crafting when Mars came around.

"Have any new weapons for me? I want to destroy something."

"Then use what you have, un." Deidara looked up from his latest contraption, a dark, reflective glass that harnessed the energy of the sun effortlessly and redirected it. But he still hadn't been able to finish it.

"I need something new. That bastard–"

"You might as well ask for some armor as well, because you're going to get yourself killed, Hidan, un." It was all just talk, knowing neither of them could be killed, but the war god had gotten himself close enough on a number of occasions.

Hidan was silent for a moment, and Deidara realized he was thinking for once. "Are you still pissed about that old god? Itachi bitched to me about it."

Deidara huffed, smoke rolling from his nostrils at that.

Hidan chuckled. "Don't be so fucking angry about it. We're all siblings, and should get along with one another. Tell each other what the hell is up our asses and get over it."

"I'm not angry, and you've never thought that we should get along. I'm surprised you're even here talking to me, un." Hidan always thought he was above all of them, and Deidara supposed he was right, but he didn't want the other god around with pour intentions. That rarely happened.

Hidan sauntered over, and tugged at some of his armor. "It'd be great to get new armor, too. This one pinches like a bitch."

"Fine, just get out, un," Deidara conceded and the war god laughed triumphantly, before clapping Deidara solidly on the back. Deidara himself barely flinched at the action, long used to it.

Instead of doing his work, Deidara did his best to answer prayers, sending little bits of inspiration to smiths all over, but it was half-hearted, his thoughts only on Sasori, and what he was planning. The old god could not take over as Deidara in this land. He did not even have an alter! But the fact that some may still pray to him over Deidara was sickening.

He had to put a stop to Sasori.

–

It was a mortal week later when Deidara began his search again. The prayers for Sasori were still few in number, and each time Deidara dissuaded the mortal who was foolish enough to send sacrifices to him. Deidara had still not found the leak though, and from their last conversation, Sasori didn't seem to be the one spreading the word.

He was wandering around a random smithing house when he saw Sasori inside. The other god was just talking to the smith, but from what Deidara could hear, it wasn't about praying to Hephaestus, but praising the quality of the work. Deidara saw Sasori hand something over to the mortal, and the smith in return handed the purchased object to Sasori.

Once the god left, Deidara slid over casually and asked what was sold. The smith answered, but held up a coin, confused. "What kind of money of this?"

Deidara bitterly realized that it was a drachma.

A few minutes later, Deidara found Sasori talking to another smith but before any other words could be exchanged, Deidara made his way over. "What are you looking for, Sasori, un?"

The other god didn't seem disturbed by his presence. "A new balteus."

Deidara raised a brow. "Shouldn't you go to a craftsman for that, un?"

Sasori ignored Deidara to send a kind smile to the smith. "I believe this fine man can craft what I need. Can't you?"

The smith nodded, hair bouncing. "Of course, sir."

Deidara scowled lightly and crossed his arms. "Is there anything else you need, un?"

"No that is all." Sasori gave the smith a drachma. "An advanced payment."

After the formalities of goodbyes, Sasori walked away and Deidara followed.

"That kind of currency is useless here, un." Deidara matched his gait so they walked along side one-another.

Sasori didn't seem to care. "I'll offer up my blessing instead." He sent Deidara a sideways glance. "I know that you haven't been doing so as of late. Am I disturbing you, or is something else preventing you from performing?"

The need to burn, to let out his frustration was overwhelming for Deidara. But another great fire would result in fear, not reverence. "These are not your people, you cannot–"

"They _were_ my people," Sasori grit out, stopping in place. "They may speak another tongue, or call themselves by a different name, but they were _mine_. Just as you tromp around claiming to be the god of the smith and fire, the title is mine."

With those words, Deidara knew this was no casual act for Sasori. The desire for rightful worship burned just as strongly in Sasori as it did in Deidara. The difference between them though was simple. Deidara had more kindling than the old god, a steady influx of prayers that Sasori was trying to steal.

"So you plan on taking the name Vulcan and stealing my temples then, un?"

" _Steal_ ," Sasori scoffed. "Reclaim is the correct word."

"Why not go back to your own land? Do you not have your _true_ people there, un?" Deidara was met with silence as he knew he would. "Oh, that's _right_ , you are no longer worshipped there, am I correct, un? So you just try to _steal_ what you could not keep in the first place."

Through pinched lips, Sasori said, "I should blame those brothers for ruining my home, for making _you_ and the rest of your kind, but that will do little. As the rightful god, I will earn back what is mine. You may try and stop me, but look how far I have already reached?" Deidara watched Sasori stretch out his arm to the side. "I have already made my mark, so threaten the mortals all you want, but they are unlikely to listen if you do not be a service to them." With a scrunch of his nose, Sasori's eyes turned ancient. "A young entitled god you are, expecting adoration without sewing the seeds of inspiration."

Refusing to be intimidated, Deidara stared at Sasori with intent. "Like I said, just try to steal, but you will get nowhere, un."

"Let us see if you can keep up with me then." Cruel amusement skittered over Sasori's features. "I'll be glad to continue our game after all."

–

The infernos in Deidara's workshop stayed cool as he scoured the nation that was home to him. A late night prayer sent before sleep, as well as inquires before crafting were acknowledged. To all mortals that visited his temples or sent a small offering were heard and answered to.

So why was Sasori still present, many mortal months later? Why could Deidara feel the inspirations to craft follow the old god. Why were the mortals still praying to him as well.

With keen senses, Deidara could tell something was amiss. A smith prayed to Vulcan and it was answered like the lightning that would light a dry field ablaze with genius. But not a mortal day passed before Hephaestus was called to instead.

Where was Deidara's motivation? The mortals were barely responding to his blessings, to his influence. Was it within him, Deidara questioned?

Even with hundreds of Deidara's furnaces burning, no ideas came to the god. He paced and tried to make anything, but inferiority plagued the forefront of his mind. Hands shook as he tried to craft, his touch a burn that ruined anything he attempted to tinker.

Minerva appeared as the entire workshop roared in a wildfire, Deidara unable or (unwanting) to control his emotions.

"How is he doing this, un?" The words spilled from each furnace, echoing in fury. The burning image of Deidara turned toward Minerva. "He stole my power!"

The now goddess was uninterested, unaffected by the flames that licked at her ivory skin. "He stole your influence, or you have not been trying hard enough." Dark eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you shouldn't have tried reaching so far into what is not yours. You've become scattered."

It was all consuming, the desperation that clawed at Deidara until he was sure of Itachi's words. He sought the wisdom that came so effortlessly to the goddess. "How do I remain, un?"

With a ginger finger Minerva held up a burning bracelet. "If only one of you remain, the mortals will notice soon notice that much of their prayers remain unanswered. You know what to do."

For the first time in months Deidara went after Sasori, this time with the intent to destroy, to _reclaim_ what was his. Deidara refused to think that Sasori had done the same.

Deidara followed the pull of power to the ruins of Greece, fields upon fields that were set ablaze in the dry Autumn as soon as he reached them. With each step, the fire flowed around him like magma, shimmering before settling in low flames. He could see Sasori in the distance, and the power that was contained in the old god showed that he was ready to erupt.

Inferiority bloomed once more in Deidara as they got closer to one another. Unlike Deidara's bronze body that had already unleashed everything, Sasori was white, hot to the touch with untapped power.

For the first time in Deidara's existence, he felt overwhelmed by _heat_ , and that ignited something else in him, forcing him to rush to Sasori. He was met headlong, the fire from inside Sasori blooming around him, a marigold that held Deidara back by centimeters.

No words were exchanged, merely blows that failed to cripple either body. Where Sasori's offense was calculated, an aimed pinpoint, Deidara's were a circumference of hell, one proud enough to perhaps even attract the ghost of Virgil.

Days later, Deidara felt a wane, his connection to the mortals weakening until one of Sasori's blows had finally _burned_ him. For the first time, there was pain. But the refusal to give up overpowered it all, and Deidara dug deep, remembering when he was first brought into existence. _That_ would fuel him, not the weak mortals of the now.

Soon, time was lost to Deidara as the fight moved to the God's realm, and it was a gradual decline, the energy that left both gods. It hadn't been that long that they were without the mortal's worship was it?

A concise strike managed to bring Deidara down briefly, Sasori moving on top of him, but with a grapple, Deidara took control.

They were behaving like mortals then, back to Earth, and using the brute force of their fists for dominance instead of their ancient power. The coal's of Sasori's eyes looked worn, nearing gray as Deidara kept him down. Deidara could swear that he felt the pulse from Sasori's wrists against his palms. He tightened the hold, angered by the mere existence of Sasori, wanting to snuff out the pulse.

For the first time, Deidara spoke, "We cannot both exist! Your time is done; _you_ are done and should perish, un!"

But his fire could not extinguish Sasori's, the powers mingling as they both vied for control. A soft orange consumed them. "You can feel it, can't you?" Sasori mumbled, no longer fighting but not letting himself be consumed. "We've been gone long enough to lose our worship. Someone else has taken it." His graying eyes were turning back to tanned leather, his skin back to olive. "This was planned, wasn't it?" Sasori mused before turning his head to the side. "I knew it was too good to be true, that I could last forever. I never should have trusted her."

Deidara found himself mimicking the change against his will, form cooling until they were both just simmering, fires mixing into a single multicolored flame. Sasori's words actually had an effect on him, simply admitting it weakened Deidara. They were both fully in their human forms when Deidara fell on top of Sasori, their bodies laying still in a charred field that had been extinguished by time.

 _Is this exhaustion?_ Deidara thought. There was an internal burn, an ache in all of his limbs from the grueling battle that did not show in this form. He felt as scarred as the fields they had destroyed. Was he fading? Was this what it felt like?

Beneath him, Sasori was cool, still staring off to the side, unmindful of Deidara's weight. _He must be feeling the same thing._

Hefting an arm underneath him, by Sasori's side, Deidara pushed up and off of the other god, laying beside him instead, staring at the stars. The cosmos went by undisturbed by their scuffle, making Deidara feel insignificant, like his effort to stay aflame was for nothing. Did he not matter?

Gazing to his left, Deidara found Sasori also looking at him. "This is the fade, isn't it?"

"No... the fade holds no pain, just... nothingness. But that is an agony within itself." Their flames were still intertwined, but it was now a deep blue. "If you do experience it, you will understand why I tried so hard to come back." There was purpose in his stare now. "It takes just one mind to keep us alive, to keep the agony away."

Deidara wanted to hate him, wanted the storm of fire to come back, but understanding overwhelmed him instead. While Sasori was worshipped, Deidara knew what it was like to slowly slip from the mortal's minds, what the beginning of the end felt like. Even now, he felt defenseless from the lack of power. Was it the feud or absence of mortal offerings?

"This was arranged. Our meeting and our confrontation." Sasori was downtrodden then vengeful, expressions clear for once. "I never trusted her back then, and I shouldn't have now, but at least..." A hand reached up to Deidara's face, fingers gently touching his chin. "I was able to see what has been done to my image, how I have been remodeled to fit their newer standards." Sasori sneered, but why did it look endearing to Deidara? "You're stubborn, but so am I... I suppose if one of us survives, we'll have to carry the other on in our thoughts."

"What makes you think I would keep you around, un?" Deidara's body stuttered in protest as he grabbed Sasori's hand, to get him away, but he was unable to let go, the strength nonexistent. The fire in their hands turned a deep purple.

A huff escaped Sasori, but from the smile, Deidara realized it was a chuckle. "Of course, you have a point. All I can hope is to not fade completely."

"So it's a competition again, un? We'll see who is left?"

Leather eyes closed. "First I would like to rest before continuing. You should too, if you don't want to burn out."

Deidara would think he were speaking to Venus, his body so willing to listen to Sasori. Once his eyes closed, he could focus on the heat of his body, or lack thereof. Much to his chagrin, the only warm spot dwindled to between their hands.

Deidara focused on that heat as he rested, until hours later when the sun rose, that too went cool. He opened his eyes to find his hand empty, Sasori gone. The sight was a relief, to be the champion, but dread overcame that soon enough. This was proof, a warning of Deidara's fate that was just as inevitable as a human's decent into Hades.

Recuperation was needed, but not in a mortal form. Deidara used what bit of power he had to return to his workshop and he collapsed against a bench to keep himself upright. The relocation helped, but Deidara needed more. Slowly he began to create for the sake of creating. He didn't focus on any competition of besting anyone, just bettering and returning to himself.

He went on like this until the ache in his form was due to forging and not the battle he had endured. It gave Deidara a sense of normalcy, a sign that he was regaining every aspect of him that Sasori sought to steal.

But soon while in his workshop, Deidara could hear the prayers whispered for craft, and once more undirected from him. They couldn't be for Sasori; he was gone, so who?

 _Don't trust her._

Deidara turned sharply, eyes seeking out the dead god, but finding himself alone. He refused to believe Sasori's words, _"I suppose if one of us survives, we'll have to carry the other on in our thoughts."_ But also, _"It just takes one mind to keep us alive, to keep the agony away."_

No, Deidara refused to be the one to keep Sasori in this world, in _his_ world; to be the one to keep the agony away. He had won, so why should he burdened with it. But another thought plagued Deidara.

Was it possible for a god to worship another?

Before he could answer his question though, or address it more thoroughly, Deidara went in search of a certain goddess. He knew where to find her, most likely in a forum discussing philosophy in the façade of a mortal man. He was found in the middle of a group, having an engaging conversation with another man, white wool toga bleached enough to shine.

This had to be done with tact, the confrontation, but Deidara knew that pointing fingers would only do so much if he could not prove that Minerva was behind this.

 _She tricked me like she tricked you. The only rebellion that occurred was when she drove us to fight, distracting us from our rightful place._

My _rightful place_ , Deidara thought bitterly, irked that he was even thinking of a response to the voice.

Deidara approached the group and one of the men caught his eye. "Ah, I'm afraid I've never seen you around before."

Itachi was the one to respond, casually stepping away from the group. "Oh, he is a friend of mine, but he has been absent for the past few days, even missing from work." Deidara scowled as Itachi cast him a rather innocent, but curious, look. "Where have you been, Deidara?"

With a calm voice, Deidara said, "Someone lead me away from my station; something about my things being stolen, but I think the tip came from a child, as I still have all of my possessions, un."

"Even your occupation?" Itachi inquired and Deidara stood straighter at that.

"Especially that." Not glancing at the mortals, Deidara said, "We should be heading out, un."

The men all gave a hum and nodded their heads as both Deidara and Itachi walked away from the forum, before they vanished, only to appear in Itachi's chambers.

Now as a female once more, Itachi sat down at a workbench similar to Deidara's that was clearly more organized. On it held different papers for commerce, but also crafts. Crafts that Deidara had participated in up until recently.

"Are you staying in that form to intimidate me? When was the last time you took on a female form?" Itachi was clearly trying to goad him by now, but Deidara chose to ignore her.

Picking up a studded armband, Deidara turned to Itachi. "Clearly for a woman by size, but the designs won't do well in Rome, far too masculine, un."

Itachi barely flinched as she went turned to a basket that held an infinite number of spools of yarn for weaving. "What would you know? These crafts are not even your specialty, yet you dabble in them as if you were their master."

"Is that what you think, un?" Deidara dropped the armband and stood in front of Itachi, form already shimmering with heat.

 _Do not be so direct, that will get you nowhere with her._

"Anything involving metalwork belongs to me, whether it be a sword or a necklace, I can craft it, un."

"As can others, perhaps even those more suited to it." Itachi's dark eyes narrowed, full lips now in a tense line. "You, you who claim to craft anything and everything, so proud of your title that you will fight like a child to keep it in all of its forms."

Deidara could feel something holding him back, the words in his mind repeating themselves. "Fortunately, I know what I'm doing and my title remains mine, un. But I can see why someone would bring back an old god to distract me. My position is much easier to take from behind when I'm occupied with a frontal assault, isn't it, un?"

The accusation was mild, but Itachi still stood, intent to defend herself anyway. "I am reclaiming what is mine."

"The last god who said the same to me is now gone, un," Deidara said, knowing his face would not betray him. But doubt still filled him, unsure of his counterparts demise. Amusement bloomed in Deidara, but he knew it wasn't his own.

Itachi took a deep breath. "Selfish is what you are–"

"And conniving, you, un," Deidara countered, now going through with the accusation. "This whole thing was orchestrated beautifully, wasn't it?" By then, they were standing face to face, neither backing down. "You would drag a dead god from their death to mislead me, just to take the prayers of mortals, un? You honestly think that I am that weak to–"

"You lost yourself in that time," Itachi pointed out, smug. "So consumed with your inadequacy for the mortals and Hephaestus that you were actually unable to perform in inspiration. I just took over so the mortals would not lose faith in us. I _saved_ us."

"You believe yourself to be the great strategist of your past, un?" Deidara asked, not wanting to admit to Itachi's previous statements. "You nearly damned me, and in the process killed a god who is now dead twice over, un. All you've done is disrupt what was already functioning, claiming to have fixed it, un."

" _You_ were the one who killed that god," Itachi snarled. "I was the one who gave him life so do not put his death on my hands."

 _Always one to twist your words, isn't she?_

There was a bit of comfort to draw from the voice, Deidara knowing he was not alone in this. "Whatever the outcome, I have returned, and those prayers are mine." Itachi opened her mouth, but Deidara quickly said, "We both know who has more temples, so if you want to take the scraps to satisfy you, be my guest, but know that you will be a scavenger in doing so, un."

"If it means taking back what it mine then so be it."

The two rarely spoke since then, a silent feud of who crafted what continuing on softly, but Deidara knew the true victor. Minerva could never craft what he could, could never create the splendor that he did. But then again, Deidara didn't always think he could either.

Deep in his workshop, Deidara's tinkering was often intermingled with a conversation, more often now between two beings.

"Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

"Yes," Deidara spoke, nearly to himself as that was what he was used to. "The idea may have come from you, but it can always be improved; especially by me, un."

Sasori just scoffed, and continued to lean against the table, his form shimmering as he watched Deidara work.

"Now that is a lie, I'm sure."

Deidara cast Sasori a pensive look, before reaching out for his hand, only feeling warmth. "But we both know it to be true, don't we, un?"

"You at least had the common sense to keep me around, so I suppose only a bit."

Almost feeling a squeeze, Deidara turned back to his work. "It's only that little bit that matters, un."

Sasori was no longer standing beside him, but a warmth filled with Deidara, as well as a thought.

 _No truer words have been created._

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